Children of Time, Ep 3: Gridson
by Wholmes Productions
Summary: One trip into the future... what could possibly go wrong? Travelling with the Doctor can hold personal hazards, as Holmes and Watson find out in New New York. Sequel to "Men of England", can also stand alone.
1. Future Imperfect

**==Chapter One==**

**Future Imperfect**

_I wanted to explain that I am constantly overestimating and underestimating the human race – that rarely do I ever simply estimate it. I wanted to ask her how the same thing could be so ugly and so glorious, and its words and stories so damning and brilliant._

– _Markus Zusak, __The Book Thief_

He focused on the new trip, because if he didn't, he'd collapse in on himself. The Doctor did not want to be alone. And Holmes and Watson were just amazing, perfect best friends and perfect traveling Companions—he didn't want to lose them so soon.

So here they were, spinning five billion years into their future to see New New York. One trip to the past, one trip to the future, and then… well, that's what the Doctor was desperately avoiding thinking about.

"So," said Watson, bemusement written on his features, "if we're going to _New_ Earth, what happened to the old one?"

Oh. _Oh_. Like an idiot, he hadn't thought of having to explain that. "It's gone," he said quietly, gently.

Both humans looked stricken, and the Doctor's hearts ached for them. Earth's destruction was not like Gallifrey's, but still… Still, he knew what they were feeling. It was like taking Rose to Platform One, all over again.

Watson shook his head in disbelief. "How…?"

The Doctor managed a sad smile for his benefit. "Five billion years from your time, Watson." By _anyone's_ standards, that was impressive—one of the longest-lived planets in the history of the universe. It figured, though, didn't it: that the planet would be as resilient as her people? "Already, your world was uninhabitable, held in stasis by the National Trust, and they could only afford that for so long. They had to let go… and the Sun expanded."

Holmes placed a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder, expression somber. "It appears," he said quietly, "that even planets have a limited lifespan, old fellow…"

"Over five billion years," Watson breathed, and smiled faintly. "That is rather impressive…" He turned back to the Doctor. "And her people?"

The Doctor felt some of the sadness seep out of his smile, replaced with better memories. Memories of beautiful, brilliant new humans, fully human and fully alive and fully healthy. "Oh, you lot survive—you always do. Matter of fact, you blend in with alien races and then a new strain of good ole _homo sapiens_ pops back up…" His eyes sparkled with remembered joy.

Watson chuckled silently, smiling in wonder. "Charles Darwin would turn in his grave…"

The Doctor laughed, then sobered—that particular adventure certainly hadn't started well. "And it began so evilly—all those poor people, locked away… But it all worked out in the end." He smiled solemnly and shrugged.

Holmes tilted his head, gazing thoughtfully at the Time Lord. "You were there, Doctor, weren't you?"

The Doctor nodded slowly, closing his eyes. "Only my second day in this lifetime… and I got to be more than a fighter." More than the jaded, tired old soldier that had just come away from a double genocide. "I got to be a healer. For the first time in a very long time…" He smiled softly, recalling the ecstasy of it.

_That's right. Hey, there we go, sweetheart. Go to him. Go on, that's it. That's it. It's a new sub-species, Cassandra. A brand new form of life. New humans! Look at them. Look! Grown by cats, kept in the dark, fed by tubes, but completely, completely alive._

"…the Doctor was in."

Watson smiled back, then his brow furrowed. "Wait… '_this_ lifetime'? Should I even ask?"

The Doctor gulped, eyes widening. Bad enough explaining regeneration to Holmes—he really didn't want to do it with Watson as well. "Ahhh, maybe Holmes can explain that later! 'Cooos… look at that, we're landing!"

Even above the sounds of the TARDIS shuddering to a halt, the Doctor could hear Watson murmur to Holmes, "We'll add it to the list, shall we?" Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Holmes nod in resignation.

The Doctor sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Never mind about me! You're in New New New New New New New New New New New New New New New York! Out that door with you, now!"

The pair exchanged excited grins—couple of schoolboys, the two of them—and headed for the door. Grinning, the Doctor jogged after them. Watson stood back and gestured to Holmes. "Your turn, old boy!"

Holmes opened the door and stepped boldly out… into pouring rain. He exclaimed loudly in disgust, making both doctors laugh.

"Aw, c'mon, Holmes!" said the Doctor. "Bit of rain never hurt anyone!" Unless it was acid rain on three and a half dozen planets, but he wasn't about to mention that—this particular planet wasn't on that list.

Holmes turned up his coat collar, glaring at Watson as he did so. "Five billion years," he muttered, "and they still can't control the weather?"

"'Course they can!" the Doctor rejoined. "What fun would that be?" He brushed past the pair and headed right out into the rain—neither rain nor sleet nor snow nor any alien precipitation ever kept him from an adventure. "Come on—let's find some cover!"

* * *

Watson's amusement at his friend's first encounter with a new planet was becoming ever-so-slightly dampened by the driving rain – which was surprisingly warm, with a faint acrid smell that reminded him of Holmes' latest unfortunate chemical experiment. Shielding his eyes as they jogged along, he squinted upwards for a look at the sky, but found his view hampered by the tall brick walls of the narrow alley they were in. Next minute, they emerged into a wider alley, although just as dingy and full of rubbish.

"Need to find a news-board somewhere," he heard the Doctor mutter, sounding mildly nonplussed. "_Something_..."

Watson sighed – he hadn't exactly been expecting a Jules Verne utopia, but still... "I hate to say it, Doctor, but New Earth doesn't seem much different to the old one. Look at all this refuse!" Actually, their surroundings put him strongly in mind of the poorer quarters of Calcutta, only greyer.

"Hold on, hold on," the Doctor sighed himself, stopping by a blank display screen mounted on the alley wall and pointing the sonic screwdriver at it. "Let's have a look."

Several moments of whining buzz and a few encouraging thumps later, the fuzzy image of a smiling blonde woman came into view. "...and the driving should be clear and easy, with fifteen extra lanes open for the New New Jersey expressway." The image changed to a view across an ocean harbour of a city skyline, and Watson gaped at the scene: the buildings were taller than cathedral spires, gleaming silver under a clear, sunny sky. And the vehicles...! He had seen the occasional motorcar in his own time, even been fortunate enough to ride in one once; but he'd never seen anything like the sleek capsules that were soaring through the sky in quick succession with the grace of birds and three times the speed...

"Oh, that's more like it!" The Doctor's voice broke in on his rapt musings, holding a faint note of relief. "That's the New we had last time. This must be the lower levels, down in the base of the tower. Some sort of under-city."

Holmes groaned, sounding decidedly unimpressed. "I might have known we'd land in the slums..."

"Much more interesting!" the Doctor protested. "It's all cocktails and glitter up there. This is the _real_ city."

Holmes sniffed the air in distaste. "Yes, it smells most authentic."

"Don't be such a sourpuss. Ah, the rain's stopping. Better and better." Watson had barely noticed the slackening downpour, still absorbed by the breathtaking view of the upper city. The Doctor leaned down beside him, smiling. "Like it?"

"It's stunning," Watson breathed, then turned to the Doctor, curiosity piqued. "You said 'last time' - you've been here before?"

The Doctor nodded slowly, his expression suddenly distant and faintly sad. "Those people I was talking about? That was here. New Moon Hospital..."

"How long ago was that?" Watson asked, pretending not to notice the look. "For them, I mean."

The Doctor snapped out of his reverie with a shrug. "Oh, it's been a good century, I think…"

"Doctor, this might sound a bit of an odd request..." Watson smiled, "but could we visit the hospital? I would be most interested to see just how far mankind has advanced in the field of medicine."

He was mildly surprised when the Doctor winced. "I don't exactly care for hospitals – ironic, I know. And..." His hesitant expression took on a tinge of concern. "Watson, are you really sure you want to do that? See the advances that have been made and then go back to your own time with Victorian medicine?"

"I am very much aware that the practices of my time are extremely archaic, Doctor," Watson sighed. "So, yes – I believe I truly would find it inspiring to see firsthand the heights that healers will one day reach."

Just then, the three men were startled when a large hatch swung open in the wall next to them, revealing a thin man with a sparse beard, wearing a white coat and cap. "Oh! You should have said," he greeted them cheerfully. "How long you been there? Happy. You want Happy."

As Watson blinked in bewilderment at the mysterious vendor, two more stalls popped open on the other side of the alley. "Customers! We've got customers!" an older dark-skinned woman said gleefully.

"We're in business," a young woman called over her shoulder. "Mother, open up the Mellow and the Read!"

"Happy, Happy, lovely happy Happy!"

"Anger. Buy some Anger!"

"Get some Mellow. Makes you feel all bendy and soft all day long."

"Don't go to them, they'll rip you off," scoffed the first stallholder. "Do you want some Happy?"

"No, thanks," the Doctor replied flatly, his eyes now cold and hard.

Watson's own eyes were widening as he realised: "Are they... selling drugs?"

"I think they're selling moods," the Time Lord replied pensively, his expression radiating deep disapproval. Watson didn't blame him in the slightest!

"Are they not the same, in this case?" Holmes' dry remark only served to fan Watson's growing irritation.

"Don't start, Holmes!" he snapped, shooting the detective a sharp glare, then asked pointedly, "What was it last time: the cocaine or the morphine?" The morocco case in Holmes' desk drawer had always been a sore point between them – and if his friend even _looked_ as if he was considering making a purchase here... He was astonished, however, to see Holmes looking vaguely discomfited... but before he could pursue the matter further, they were interrupted by the stallholders renewing their clamour as a young blonde woman entered the alley, dressed all in black.

"And what can I get you, my love?" the younger female vendor inquired, sounding revoltingly cheerful at having secured the first customer.

"I want to buy Forget," the girl murmured.

"I've got Forget, my darling. What strength? How much do you want forgetting?"

"It's my mother and father. They went on the motorway."

"Oh, that's a swine." Watson was mystified by the vendor's now-sincere sympathetic tone. "Try this: Forget Forty-three. That's two credits."

The girl handed over her money in exchange for a small square patch; the sheer hunger in her eyes sent a chill down Watson's spine. Still uncertain of whether or not to intervene, he was greatly relieved when the Doctor stepped forward. "Sorry, but hold on a minute. What happened to your parents?"

"They drove off," the girl said simply, as if the explanation were all anyone could require.

Holmes frowned as he too came forward. "Drove off where?"

"The motorway. Everyone goes to the motorway in the end. I've lost them." The young woman moved her shawl off her neck.

"But they can't have gone far," the Doctor interjected hastily. "You could find them. No. No, no, don't...!" But his words fell on deaf ears, and the girl placed the patch on her neck. Watson watched aghast as her mournful expression became an empty smile that chilled him to the core.

"I'm sorry," she said absently, "what were you saying?"

"Your parents. Your mother and father," the Doctor urged, sounding equally horrified. "They're on the motorway."

The young woman's vacant look didn't even flicker. "Are they? That's nice. I'm sorry, I won't keep you."

Watson shook his head in disbelief, utterly appalled by what they had just witnessed. "So... _this_ is the future of the human race, Doctor? Drugging themselves senseless?!" He was, however, grimly pleased to note that Holmes was also frowning deeply as he watched the young woman drift away down the alley.

The Doctor swung around to face Watson, looking as angry and upset as he had in Bedlam. "You think _I_ like it?"

Watson was about to reply, when he felt a sudden presence behind him. Before he could turn, both his arms were grabbed tightly, something was pressed to his neck, and everything went black...

* * *

Holmes heard Watson's grunt of surprise behind him and the Doctor's alarmed shout. He whirled back around and was horrified to see his friend collapsing into the arms of a young man; a woman of around the same age was tremblingly pointing some kind of firearm at Holmes and the Doctor.

"I'm sorry!" the young man said desperately, then started hauling Watson towards an open doorway, the woman close behind. "I'm really, really sorry!" The couple looked as scared as Holmes himself felt, but he was in no mood to appreciate that right now!

"Watson!" The doctor seemed unhurt, but limp as a rag doll, eyes closed. "Let him go!" Holmes demanded furiously.

"We just need three, that's all!"

"Whatever you want, I can help!" the Doctor shouted. "Both of us, we can help! But first you've got to let him go!"

"Please, don't do this!" Holmes pleaded, only kept from springing forward by the weapon in the woman's hand – his previous run-in with a Dalek laser had made him extremely wary of such things. "What do you want with him?"

"Just three!" The young man dragged his unconscious hostage through the doorway and out of sight.

"I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. Sorry," the woman repeated, sounding almost in tears. She too backed up through the door, slammed it shut after her and locked it.

"_No!_" The Doctor rushed up to the door, screwdriver already in hand.

"Hurry, Doctor!" Holmes shifted from foot to foot impatiently, barely keeping his rising panic under control. Every second was vital! After what seemed an age, the lock released, and the Doctor yanked the door open. The two men sprinted down a rubbish-filled corridor, Holmes right behind the Time Lord, boiling with rage. "Why wasn't he fighting them, what did they do to him?!"

"Used one of those patches – must've been for sleep!" They emerged onto a metal stairway leading down to yet another back street, just in time to see a larger, dingier version of the flying pods lifting off the ground in a cloud of vapour and speeding away.

"_Watson!_" A terrified Holmes started down the steps in pursuit, only to be pulled up short by the Doctor grabbing his coat collar.

"No, Holmes! You won't catch them by running!"

Holmes swung around, eyes blazing, fists clenched. "Then you had better help me find a way to catch them, Doctor, on the double!"

The Doctor nodded sharply, his own eyes smouldering. "Back to those vendors, then."

They returned to the alley with all speed. The three stallholders had closed their shutters at the first sign of trouble, but the 'Forget' vendor cautiously reopened hers when the Doctor pounded on it.

"Thought you'd come back. Do you want some happy Happy?"

"Those people who grabbed Watson – who were they?" Holmes snapped. "Where did they take him?"

"They've taken him to the motorway," the first vendor supplied.

"Looked like carjackers to me."

"I'd give up now, darlin'. You won't see him again."

"Used to be thriving, this place," the first vendor sighed, glancing around the all but empty alley. "You couldn't move. But they all go to the motorway in the end."

"The man kept saying they only needed three," Holmes said sharply. "Why three?"

"It's the car-sharing policy, to save fuel," the 'Forget' vendor explained. "You get special access if you're carrying three adults."

"How do we get to the motorway?"

"Straight down the alley, keep going to the end, you can't miss it. Tell you what," as Holmes turned to follow the woman's directions. "How about some happy Happy? Then you'll be smiling, my love." And if looks could kill, the vendor would have turned into a pile of ash that moment under the detective's vicious glare.

"Word of advice, all of you," the Doctor growled, speaking for the first time since their return. "Cash up, close down, pack your bags."

"Why's that, then?" The vendor's tone held a distinctly apprehensive note.

Unable to wait another moment, Holmes turned on his heel and strode swiftly on down the alley. He could hear the Doctor's voice clearly behind him, low but full of barely-controlled fury. "Because as soon as we've found him, alive and well – and we _will_ find him alive and well – then I'm coming back. And this street is closing – _tonight!_"

* * *

**Author's note from Ria:**

As you may have already guessed, this is the second (but also the last!) adventure which follows the original episode this closely. We promise there are good reasons for this, though, which will become apparent in the rest of the series to come. Keep your eyes open, and feel free to guess what those reasons might be in your reviews. (Hint, hint!)


	2. The Motorway

**==Chapter 2==**

**The Motorway**

_Little by little, one travels far._

– _J.R.R. Tolkien_

Watson came to slowly, forcing leaden eyelids open. There was a strange green glow above him, which gradually resolved itself into an extremely low ceiling. Still bleary from whatever had knocked him out, he managed to turn his head towards the faint sound of voices and saw a man and woman in their mid-twenties sitting a few feet away in front of a grime-covered window, although he couldn't see what lay outside of it. As he moved, he felt something stuck to the side of his neck – he reached up carefully to remove it, and was disgusted to find a patch almost identical to the 'Forget' the blonde woman had purchased in the alley, except that this one was labeled 'Sleep 14'.

His eyes narrowed – the pair seemed oblivious to the fact that their... abductee? was awake, an error he intended to take full advantage of! His gaze fell on some kind of firearm lying nearby. Without stopping to question his captors' apparent oversight, he snatched up the weapon and aimed it at the pair as he struggled to sit up, finger curled around what he hoped was the trigger.

The movement finally caught the young man's attention. Seeming strangely calm for someone with a weapon pointed at him, he nudged the young woman next to him, who also turned and gave Watson a sympathetic look.

"I'm sorry. That's not a real gun."

Watson blinked. "And how am I meant to believe that?"

The woman gave him much the same Look that Holmes reserved especially for idiots. "Where d'you get a gun from, these days? I wouldn't even know how to fire."

Watson regarded her steadily, then nodded and lowered the weapon. "All right... Now, would either of you mind telling me what the deuce is going on? Who are you?"

"Well, I'm Cheen, and this is Milo." The young man smiled apologetically as he was introduced. "And I swear we're sorry. We're really, really sorry. We just needed access to the fast lane, but I promise, as soon as we arrive, we'll drop you off and you can go back and find your friends."

Watson looked at Cheen in confusion until the last few words. "Where are they? Well, more to the point, where are _we_?"

"We're on the motorway." Milo nodded out the window.

Watson shook his head to dislodge the last of the fog in his brain, giving up trying to get a clear answer. He slid off the raised platform he'd been lying on, coming unsteadily forward to see for himself... and his jaw dropped. His brief view of the flying pods above the city had done nothing to prepare him for the sight which now greeted him: larger, box-like versions of those vehicles, more than he could possibly count, were lined up in seemingly endless rows, and not just on their level, but stacked above and below them as well. The scene made Watson feel like a sardine in a tin, and the thick vapour that swirled around the vehicles reminded him strongly of the pea-soup fog he and Holmes had left behind in their own time.

"We're going out to Brooklyn," Milo continued. "Everyone says the air's so much cleaner, and we couldn't stay in Pharmacy Town, because..." He hesitated.

"Well, because of me," Cheen smiled shyly. "I'm pregnant. We only discovered it last week. Scan says it's going to be a boy."

Watson raised an eyebrow, bestowing half a smile. "Congratulations, madam. But I still don't understand why _I'm_ here - I'm fairly certain you didn't know I was a doctor when you abducted me."

Milo stared. "A doctor, seriously? Mate, I _worked_ for doctors before this move – you look nothing like one."

"Milo..." Cheen sighed. "Look, we just needed three people, that's all. You were closest. I'm sorry."

"I'll take that as a compliment..." Watson responded dryly to Milo's innocent outburst, before turning back to Cheen. "But why three?"

"I told you," Cheen repeated patiently, "we just need access to the fast lane. They only allow cars with three adults in that lane."

"And I suppose it never occurred to you to simply _invite_ an extra passenger?" Watson asked, voice heavy with irony, then sighed in resignation. "How long is this going to take?"

"This'll be as fast as we can," Milo hastened to reassure him. "We'll take the motorway to the Brooklyn flyover, and then after that it's going to take awhile, because then there's no fast lane, just ordinary roads, but at least it's direct."

"It's only ten miles."

"How long?" Watson was growing just a little tired of having to fight to get any straight answers – the couple were almost as bad as Holmes.

"About... six years."

Watson stared at Cheen. "What?!"

"Be just in time for him to start school," Cheen said, smiling.

"Ten miles in six _years_?!" Watson repeated slowly in disbelief, the couple's shared giggle starting to seriously grate on his nerves. "You have got to be joking!"

"Not at all. Look. Honesty patch." The woman pulled her hair off her neck, revealing yet another of those cursed patches.

Watson's eyes flashed. "Then you're a pair of damn fools! Especially you, madam! You're with child, and you're wearing _that?_" He swiftly peeled the patch off Cheen's neck, discarding it in disgust, then looked at her hard, voice deadly serious. "No more, do you hear?" Hang professional detachment – he'd be damned if he'd stand by and allow this woman to risk the health of her unborn child, not if there was the slightest chance he could prevent it...

The couple stared at him, incredulous. "What the hell?" Cheen protested. "There's nothing wrong with wearing a patch during pregnancy. Mood patches are medically safe!"

Watson snorted. "And who told you that: those vultures in Pharmacy Town? That's exactly what they used to say about cocaine..." His voice trailed off, and he sighed. His surroundings were obviously affecting him more than he'd thought; he was suddenly feeling as far from home as he actually was. He passed a hand over his face, took a deep breath, then smiled wearily at the pair in truce, extending a hand to Cheen. "John Watson."

Cheen shook the offered hand cautiously, giving him an odd look. "Nice to meet you... Dr. Watson..."

Watson shook hands with Milo as well, then peered out again through what he now knew to be the car's windshield. "What in the world is all that vapour? Fog?"

"That's the exhaust from the cars." Milo shook his head. "Mate, what century are _you_ from?"

Watson grinned wryly, glad that the young man had made it a rhetorical question. _Milo, you wouldn't believe me if I told you..._

* * *

Holmes waited tensely, all but quivering with impatience, while the Doctor unlocked the metal door at the end of the alley. They stepped through onto a small balcony in a huge, dim tunnel that stretched away out of sight. The detective stared at the thousands of stationary vehicles stacked in every direction, even as he and the Doctor began to cough from the thick, foul-smelling smoke that filled the air. He covered his mouth and nose with his coat sleeve, eyes watering, heart sinking. How the devil were they going to find Watson in all of this?

As if in answer, the car nearest the balcony opened its door, and a strange figure looked out, face covered by a leather helmet, goggles and scarf. "Hey! You daft little street struts," came a male voice in what sounded remarkably like an Irish brogue. "What're you doing standing there?" The figure beckoned urgently. "Either get out or get in. Come on!"

Holmes certainly wasn't about to refuse the invitation! Grabbing the Doctor by the arm, he pulled him forward into the car, then sank down onto the nearest seat, he and the Time Lord gasping for breath.

"Did you ever see the like?" Their host shook his head in disbelief as he pulled the door closed again. "Just standing there, breathing it in."

"Here you go." A woman in the front passenger seat had risen when the two men entered, and handed the pair of them some sort of clear mask each, attached to tubes. Holmes copied the Doctor in putting the mask over his mouth and nose, breathing deeply, nodding to the woman wordlessly in thanks as fresh oxygen soothed his burning lungs.

Then their host removed his scarf and goggles... and Holmes found himself wide-eyed for the second time in as many minutes, as the figure revealed itself to be a human-sized _cat_ – or with the face of one, at least! He realised next moment that he was staring and hastily pulled himself together; after all, he'd seen a great many stranger things than this with the Doctor.

"There's this story says back in the old days, on Junction Forty-Seven, this woman stood in the exhaust fumes for a solid twenty minutes. By the time they found her, her head had swollen to fifty feet!" Wherever he might actually be from, their host clearly had an Irishman's love of a tall tale.

"Oh, you're making it up," the woman scoffed.

"A fifty-foot head!" the cat insisted, climbing back into the driver's seat. "Just think of it. Imagine picking that nose."

"Stop it, that's disgusting."

"What? Did you never pick your nose?"

The woman suddenly sat up straight and tapped the cat on the arm, all joking forgotten. "Bran, we're moving."

"Right. I'm there. I'm on it." Their host released the handbrake, allowing the car to advance a short distance with all the other cars in their line, clouds of vapour spewing from a pipe at the back of each vehicle. Holmes could now understand why the atmosphere outside was so toxic – had no one on this planet thought to invent a smokeless fuel?

"Twenty yards. We're having a good day." The cat put the brake on again and turned back to Holmes and the Doctor. "And who might you be, sirs? Very well-dressed for hitchhikers."

Holmes removed his mask and extended a hand. "I am Sherlock Holmes, and this is the Doctor." He gave the Doctor a puzzled look when the Time Lord winced, smiling weakly.

The cat chuckled good-naturedly as he shook hands. "Sherlock Holmes? And what asylum might you have escaped from, my good man? No wonder you were inhaling that poison!"

The Doctor sighed, muttering to Holmes, "Five billion years in the future doesn't mean Watson's stories are out of print."

Holmes suppressed a groan – he might have known... "Not at all, my dear sir," he said aloud to the cat as if weary of the question, "I am merely named after the detective. My parents were as well-read as you in ancient literature."

"Ah, my apologies, then!" the cat smiled. "My name's Thomas Kincaid Brannigan, and this is the bane of my life, the lovely Valerie."

His wife nodded pleasantly. "Nice to meet you."

"And that's the rest of the family behind you." Brannigan nodded towards a hanging curtain at the back of the car.

The Doctor drew the curtain aside and revealed a basket containing a litter of six kittens. "Aww, that's nice..." He carefully picked up one of the babies and stroked it as Holmes gazed at them in wonder. A cat and a human... had had _kittens..._ "Hello, you sweetheart, you. How old are they?"

"Just two months." Mrs. Brannigan smiled, tickling her infant tenderly behind the ears.

"Poor little souls," Brannigan continued. "They've never known the ground beneath their paws. Children of the motorway," he explained as both men looked at him oddly.

Holmes' brow furrowed. "They were born in here?"

Mrs. Brannigan nodded. "We couldn't stop. We heard there were jobs going, out in the laundries on Fire Island. Thought we'd take a chance."

Holmes stared, incredulous. "You have been driving for two months?" Just how long _was_ this motorway?

"Do I look like a teenager?" Brannigan snorted. "We've been driving for twelve years now."

The Doctor blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"Yeah! Started out as newlyweds. Feels like yesterday."

"Feels like twelve years to me." Mrs. Brannigan's smile was definitely strained.

"Ah, sweetheart, but you're still lovely."

Holmes could hardly believe what he was hearing. "Twelve years?! How far have you come?"

"Battery Park. It's five miles back."

It was the Doctor's turn to stare. "You travelled five miles in twelve years?"

"I think they're a bit slow," Brannigan murmured to his wife.

"Where are you from?" Mrs. Brannigan asked, starting to look at the two men suspiciously as the Doctor put the kitten back in the basket with its siblings.

Holmes suddenly recalled with a rush of guilt why they were there in the first place. "Doctor..."

"Right." The Doctor sobered. "Never mind that. We've got to get out – our friend is in one of these cars. He was taken hostage. We should get back to the TARDIS..." He turned and pulled the door open again, and Holmes saw in alarm that there was no longer anywhere to get out to, just a wide gap before a blank wall!

"You're too late for that," Brannigan admonished. "We've passed the lay-by. You're passengers now, Sonny Jim."

"When's the next lay-by?" the Doctor demanded.

Brannigan tilted his head consideringly. "Ooh... six months?"

Holmes gaped in horror. "What?!"

* * *

**Author's note from Ria:**

Poor Holmes, we really do have far too much fun torturing him! When Sky and I were first discussing rewriting the whole season, the first idea that jumped out at us was how the detective would react to Watson being carjacked – and the thought has become no less disturbing between then and now!

**Author's note from Sky:**

...I think that was the reason we decided to keep this episode the way it is! We really are evil... I would just like to add that I think this is one of the most frightening episodes of _Doctor Who_, because it's just... it's something that _could_ happen, you know?


	3. No One Else

**==Chapter 3==**

**No One Else**

_The more you depend on forces outside of yourself, the more you are dominated by them._

– _Harold Sherman_

Watson gazed out the side window at the myriads of gridlocked cars, as they slowly descended through the layers of traffic. "I'm starting to understand why journeys take so long around here. How many cars are there on the motorway?"

"I don't think anyone knows." Cheen unwrapped a large biscuit and passed it over. "Here we go. Hungry?"

Watson smiled, touched by the woman's unexpected thoughtfulness. "Yes, thank you." He bit into it experimentally; it tasted a little odd, but seemed edible. "So, this fast lane you mentioned – I'm hazarding a guess it's on the lowest level?"

Milo nodded. "Right at the bottom, underneath the traffic jam. But not many people can afford three passengers, so it's empty down there. Rumour has it you can reach up to thirty miles per hour."

"Imagine that," Watson responded dryly, then glanced around the inside of the car, bafflement growing. "But... how do you plan to live in here for six years? There's barely enough room to move!"

"Oh, we stocked up." Cheen waved a hand at the pallets of supplies stacked around the sides of the car. "Got self-replicating fuel, muscle stimulants for exercise, and there's a chemical toilet at the back. And all waste products are recycled as food."

Watson choked on the bite he'd just taken – _why_ couldn't she have told him that earlier? During his coughing fit, he made certain to 'accidentally' drop the rest of the biscuit on the floor and step on it.

"Oh, another gap," Milo said excitedly. "This is brilliant."

An oddly emotionless voice came from the control panel: "Car sign in."

"Car Four-Six-Five-Diamond-Six, on descent to fast lane, thank you very much."

"Please drive safely."

Watson wiped the tears from his eyes, resisting the urge to ask for water – he could well surmise what _that_ would be 'recycled' from! He shook his head, muttering, "I'll never complain about army rations again..."

* * *

It was the work of a few seconds with the sonic to get a call through to the NNYPD. The Doctor leaned down towards the radio and said, "I need to talk to the police."

A computerized male voice (in yet another British accent—the Doctor had noted the tremendous spread of accents from a handful of tiny islands, thanks very much) answered. "Thank you for your call. You have been placed on hold."

The Doctor glared at the callscreen. "But you're the police."

"Thank you for your call. You have been placed on hold."

Bloody answering machines. Five billion years and the human race hadn't eliminated them yet? At least give him an _artificial_ intelligence to talk to! The Doctor brushed past Holmes, whose gaze kept flitting between the Doctor and the human kittens, and leaned against the Brannigans' chairs. "Is there anyone else?" said the Time Lord. "I once met the Duke of Manhattan." Healed him, even, and the man was a humanoid, quite likely to count yet among the living. "Is there any way of getting through to him?"

"Oh now, ain't you lordly?" said the cat.

"We've gotta find our friend," the Doctor urged.

"You can't make outside calls," said Valerie, looking sympathetic but as helpless as the Doctor was beginning to feel. "The motorway's completely enclosed."

All right, that couldn't be right. That wasn't the New New York he knew, the New New York that was meant to be. The city was the crown jewel of the most Earth-like planet in existence now, the pride of the human race, and yet this particular reality felt more like a sci-fi dystopia from the 1950s. The Doctor _knew_ there was a reason he preferred good ole Planet Earth within a roughly three hundred-year period…

"What about the other cars?" That was Holmes, and that was a good question.

"Oh, we've got contact with them, yeah—well, some of them, anyway," said Brannigan, nodding. "They've got to be on your 'friends' list. Now, let's see, who's nearby? Ah, the Cassini sisters!"

The Cassini sisters turned out to be married, and one of them turned out to be a car-spotter. She had the number of cars from the last entrance: fifty-three new cars from Pharmacy Town, and between her and the Doctor, they narrowed it down to car 4-6-5-Diamond-6. _Of course_, though, with three passengers on board and heading for the fast lane, that car was in a different class of communication and thus unreachable.

The conversation ended on a sour note, at least on the Doctor's end. He didn't dare glance over his shoulder at Holmes—he was too afraid of what he might see. This was stupid, this whole trip had been stupid, stupid, _stupid_. The Doctor had known something like this might happen, _Holmes_ had known something like this might happen, and it was happening _right now_.

Why did the Doctor _need_ friends so desperately and what _was_ it about him that made him and his friends such _chew toys_ for all of Time and Space in the first place?!

* * *

They were making good time, with only another ten layers left before they reached the fast lane. Watson was about to suggest that the couple let him out at the end of it, since they really wouldn't need him for travelling the slow lanes, when he heard a strange sound outside the car: a long, rasping growl that sent a chill down his spine, as much for its unexpectedness as anything else.

"What on earth...?" The sound came again, a little louder. "It's coming from below," Watson muttered, trying in vain to see further down than the next level.

"It's like Kate said," Cheen breathed, eyes wide. "The stories, they're true."

Watson frowned. "What stories?"

"It's the sound of the air vents, that's all," Milo shrugged. "The exhaust fumes travel down, so at the base of the tunnel they've got air vents."

"No, but the stories are much better," Cheen persisted, wearing much the same expression that Harry had while 'entertaining' him with ghost stories on stormy nights during their boyhood. "They say people go missing on the motorway. Some cars just vanish, never to be seen again, because there's something living down there in the smoke. Something huge and hungry. And if you get lost on the road, it's waiting for you..." As if on cue, there was another distant roar, followed by a long moment of uneasy silence from the three in the car.

"But like I said: air vents," Milo scoffed, recovering. "Going down to the next layer."

Watson stared out through the windshield, an uncomfortable thought that had been nagging at the back of his mind now pushing its way to the forefront. "Milo," he said slowly, "take a good look out there. Does it look to you as if the air vents are actually working?"

Cheen followed Watson's gaze, no doubt noticing as the doctor had that the exhaust fog was much thicker down here than it had been on the upper levels. "No..."

"So _what_ is making that sound?" Watson asked grimly.

Milo shook his head. "Those stories are kids' stuff. Car Four-Six-Five-Diamond-Six, on descent."

Watson could only watch helplessly – it wasn't as if he had any idea of how to drive, even if he'd been stupid enough to try to take over the wheel. "Don't talk to me about stories..." he murmured.

* * *

The Doctor leaned down and looked Brannigan in the eye. "We've got to go to the fast lane. Take us down."

"Not in a million years," the cat said in a tone of finality.

"You've got four passengers!" the Doctor protested. And why did nobody ever pay attention to the "do as I say or there'll be hell to pay" look? He was giving Brannigan that look right now—why did no one ever heed the look?

"I'm still not going," said Brannigan.

Holmes stepped forward, face pale and taut, grey eyes wide and afraid and urgent. "Sir, please: he's my friend. It's my fault he was taken—we should never have been here in the first place."

The Doctor couldn't help it: he flinched and closed his eyes. _I'm sorry, Sherlock. I'm sorry, John Watson. I'm so sorry_…

"If anything happens to him…" The Doctor dared a glance at the detective—the human closed his eyes in obvious pain for a moment, then looked at Brannigan pleadingly. "Please," he said, his voice subdued, "just take us down."

"I'm sorry," said Valerie, and she looked it, "but that's a no, and that's final. I'm not risking the children down there."

The Doctor frowned—some information, finally? "Why not? What's the risk? What happens down there?"

"We're not discussing it," Valerie said firmly. Why did mums get in his way, why was it always the mums… "The conversation is closed!"

Sherlock Holmes loomed over them like a thunderhead, looking every inch the Great Detective now that put the fear of God into the hearts of evildoers. "So you plan to simply keep on driving?"

Brannigan nodded. "Yes, we do."

"For how long?" the Doctor nearly shouted, thoroughly angry now—at who or what, he wasn't quite sure—and getting angrier by the moment.

"'Til the journey's end."

Eyes narrowing, the Doctor grabbed the radio again. Inaction was so completely _not_ an option that it was in the margin on the bottom of a mile-long list he could have composed of the things he _could_ do about this situation. "Mrs. Cassini, this is the Doctor. Tell me, how long have you been driving on the motorway?"

"Oh, we were amongst the first," said Alice Cassini. Not the car-spotter—she was apparently the driver. "It's been twenty-three years now."

The Doctor made sure to keep his tone conversational. "And in all that time, have you ever seen a police car?" He didn't like where his own line of questioning was going, but it was looking more and more probable by the minute.

"I'm not sure," said May Cassini, the one with the records. Her voice was low and uncertain, the tone people always, _always_ used when they knew something was wrong and preferred not thinking about it. _Honestly_, five billion years and humans were still this stupid…

"Look at your notes," the Doctor said, still nonchalant. He noted the Brannigans' unease in their expressions and body language. A frightened bunch of children, the lot of them, unwilling to acknowledge the monster under their bed and _do_ something about it. "Any police?"

"Not as such," said May, even more uncertain now.

"Or an ambulance? Rescue service? Anything official. Ever." He was starting to make the Brannigans _think_—he could see it…

"I can't keep a note of everything," May protested.

To the Doctor's surprise, Holmes leaned in, tone and expression grim. "You would have noted the presence of the authorities if they had ever appeared, madam. Has it never occurred to you that there simply might not be anyone out there?"

Brannigan snatched the radio back. "Stop it. The Cassinis were doing you a favor."

Holmes gazed at him steadily. "You may not wish to acknowledge the truth, sir," he said quietly, "but it is there in your eyes all the same. You said it yourselves: the motorway is completely enclosed. What if everyone is simply going around in a huge circle?"

The cat was visibly unsettled. "There's a whole city above us. The mighty citystate of New New York—they wouldn't just leave us!"

"In that case, where are they, hmm?" said the Doctor. He thought he was doing an impressive job of keeping himself from lashing out and calling them all thick—there was only so much willful ignorance a willfully _rebellious_ Time Lord could take. "What if there's no help coming, not ever? What if there's nothing? Just the motorway, with the cars going round and round and round and round, never stopping. _Forever_."

"Shut up!" said Valerie, clearly upset. The Doctor turned on her, eyes blazing—dear heavens, someone just make this woman _see_… "Just shut up!"

The TV screen before them came alive with the blonde news anchor, speaking in the first _American_ accent the Doctor had heard since coming here with _Rose_… "This is Sally Calypso, and it's that time again. The sun is blazing high in the sky over the New Atlantic—" with no sunlight ever touching the motorway—"the perfect setting for the daily contemplation."

"You think you know us so well, Doctor, Mr. Holmes," Brannigan said with more than a hint of contempt. "But we're not abandoned. Not while we have each other."

The Doctor looked between the couple, incredulous and furious. Just how completely _brainless_ could they—

"This is for all of you out there on the roads," the blonde continued. "We're so sorry." _Who_ was so sorry?! "Drive safe."

Then her image winked out, and the tune for "The Old Rugged Cross" began. And the Brannigans began to sing the ancient hymn.

The Doctor wanted to rip the TV from the console and hurl it through the windshield. Whoever was out there playing the music clearly didn't give a damn for the people it was meant for! He glanced at Holmes… and was dismayed to find that though the detective's frown was frustrated, despair was beginning to creep into the large grey eyes.

Not again. _I'm going to find a way, Sherlock. I promise_.

* * *

Watson had turned his face away by the time the hymn ended, blinking, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. He'd thought he was feeling homesick _before_...

"Fast lane access," came the voice from the control panel suddenly, startling the three passengers. "Please drive safely."

"We made it!" Milo breathed. He pointed the car down for the last time and they began heading along the otherwise deserted fast lane. That emptiness only served to strengthen Watson's growing unease – his soldier's sense, honed further by years of working with Holmes, was now screaming at him._ I hope you're well out of this mess, old friend..._

* * *

**Author's note from Ria: **Ooh, getting exciting, isn't it... oi, wake up over there! Watson's turn to get tortured this chapter, poor fella – the biscuit scene was so much fun to write!

**Author's note from Sky:** And here my co-writer demonstrates her evilness. *sigh* Anyhoo, still more angst for poor Ten—doncha love it? I had fun with my scenes in this chapter, too. So... seems like you guys are enjoying the ride (no pun intended!) thus far, and I hope you continue to enjoy it! I promise, we've got reasons for following the script like this, not the least of which being that the whole bit with the Doctor saving New New York just seems to be kind of a must-happen thing! Hold in there—more angst yet to come!


	4. Locked In The Loop

**==Chapter 4==**

**Locked in the Loop**

_If you want a thing done well, do it yourself._

– _Napoleon Bonaparte_

Holmes managed to remain respectfully silent during the hymn, although with considerable frustration; what would singing achieve that action could not? The problem was, he had absolutely no idea what action they should be taking! The detective had rarely felt so helpless in his life, his mind chasing itself in empty circles...

The Doctor's grim voice interrupted Holmes' bleak musings, the words making his heart leap with renewed hope: "If you won't take us, we'll go down on our own."

"What do you think you're doing?" Brannigan demanded, as the Doctor knelt beside a square hatch in the floor of the car and began running the sonic screwdriver around the edges.

"Finding my own way. I usually do." The hatch popped open.

"Brilliant, Doctor!" Holmes' face lit up as he realised what the Time Lord was about, joining him at the edge. The line of vehicles below them was currently moving, but a car soon stopped directly below.

The Doctor flashed Holmes a grin, then shrugged out of his overcoat and tossed it to Mrs. Brannigan. "Look after this. I love that coat. Janis Joplin gave me that coat."

"But you can't jump!" the woman gasped.

Brannigan regarded them consideringly. "This Watson – he must mean an awful lot to the pair of you."

Holmes gave the cat a long, mute look, not trusting himself to speak right then; beside him, he felt rather than saw the Doctor's silent nod.

"Bye, then," the Doctor said quietly, then swung himself down through the hatch, hung for a moment and landed on the roof of the car below. Holmes took a deep lungful of air and followed suit. "Careful, now!" the Time Lord called, already starting to cough again. He opened the roof hatch and the two piled in to find an extremely pale man in a white suit staring at them.

"Who the hell are you?"

"Sorry, Motorway Foot Patrol. We're doing a survey," the Doctor supplied hastily – Holmes had to suppress a snort at the bizarre explanation. "How are you enjoying your motorway?"

"Well, not very much. Junction Five's been closed for three years."

"Thank you," the Doctor smiled briefly, "your comments have been noted. Have a nice day!" He opened the next floor hatch and the companions prepared to descend again.

* * *

The three passengers gazed in dismay at the control panel's display screen. According to the disembodied voice, all exits for the Brooklyn junction were closed.

"What do we do?" Cheen was almost in tears.

"We'll keep going round." Watson looked at Milo in disbelief – how much longer was that going to take? "We'll do the whole loop, and by the time we come back round, they'll be open."

Just then, another growl sounded, much closer this time, and Watson stiffened as the car shuddered slightly. "You still believe that's the air vents?"

"What else could it be?" Why the young man thought Watson had the least desire to speculate...

"What the hell _is_ that?" Cheen whimpered.

Milo patted her on the knee, trying hard to look reassuring. "It's just... the hydraulics."

"It almost sounds as if it were... alive." Watson hoped he didn't sound as alarmed as he felt, the last thing he wanted was to set the other two panicking.

"But it's all exhaust fumes out there. Nothing could breathe in that."

All of them jumped as another voice suddenly sounded from the carphone speaker: "Calling Car Four-Six-Five-Diamond-Six. Repeat, calling Car Four-Six-Five-Diamond-Six."

"This is Car Four-Six-Five-Diamond-Six," Milo responded. "Who's that? Where are you?"

"I'm in the fast lane, about fifty yards behind." The strange voice was female, tight with fear, and Watson was appalled to hear more frightened voices in the background. "Can you get back up? Can you get off the fast lane?"

"We only have permission to go down. We need the Brooklyn Flyover."

"It's closed. Go back up." That had to be the most sensible thing Watson had heard all day...

"We can't. We'll just go round." The doctor gritted his teeth – until now, Holmes had been the only one he'd wanted to knock some sense into this badly!

"Don't you understand? They're closed. They're always closed!" Cheen clapped her hands over her mouth at that, breath coming in terrified gasps. "We're stuck down here, and there's something else out there in the fog! Can't you hear it?" Right on cue, the loudest roar yet sounded from behind them, and their car lurched sickeningly as if something gigantic had struck it.

"For God's sake, Milo," Watson snapped, "Do as she says! Get us out of here!"

Screams erupted from the speaker, accompanied by the screech of buckling metal. "I can't move! They've got us!"

"But what's happening?" Milo stammered, face pale – of course the young fool was only waking up _now_ to the severity of the situation! Next moment, the noise from the other car ended abruptly in a crackle of static.

"Do us all a favour, you idiot, and don't find out!" Watson thundered, all patience exhausted, as the car shuddered repeatedly from yet more massive blows. "_Drive!_"

* * *

Holmes and the Doctor dropped into what felt like the hundredth vehicle to the detective. All those brief glimpses into the lives of future humans might have fascinated him at any other time, with the exception of that naturist couple early on in their descent... He looked up and was faintly amused to note that the dandyish gentlemen in the driver's seat was dressed in much the same style of clothing as he was.

"Excuse _me_, is that legal?" The accent wasn't much different, either.

"Sorry, Motorway Foot Patrol," the Doctor rasped, trying to clear his throat. "Whatever. Have you got any water?"

"Certainly. Never let it be said I've lost my manners." Holmes nodded gratefully, he and the Time Lord draining the cups they were handed.

"Is this the last layer?" the Doctor asked wearily.

The gentleman nodded. "We're right at the bottom. Nothing below us but the fast lane."

"'Scuse me, please." The Doctor started opening the floor hatch.

"You can't jump! It's a thousand feet down."

"No, I just want to look."

The hatch popped open, and Holmes stiffened in horror as a sudden loud growl came from below. "What the devil is that?" he breathed, eyes wide, trying in vain to see the source of the noise through all the swirling vapour. He hadn't heard anything that chilling since the collective voice of the K'vir...

The gentleman's expression reminded Holmes strongly of Brannigan's. "I... try not to think about it."

"What are those lights?" the Doctor murmured anxiously. "What's down there? I just need to see." He hastened to the front of the car with the sonic screwdriver and started using it on the front control panel. "There must be some sort of ventilation. If I could just transmit a pulse through this thing, maybe I could trip the system, give us a bit of a breeze... That's it!" He rejoined the other two men. "Might shift the fumes a bit, give us a good look."

Holmes stared aghast as the vapour began to clear. "Doctor, there's something moving down there!" Was he dreaming, or was he actually seeing... gigantic crabs?!

"What the hell _are_ they?" their host gasped, sounding equally horrified.

The Doctor's face was grim. "Macra."

* * *

Watson clung to the backs of Cheen and Milo's seats, barely keeping his feet as they dodged and wove through a veritable multitude of snatching claws.

"Go faster!" Cheen screamed.

"I'm at top speed!" Milo shouted back, stabbing frantically at the screen.

"No access above." Watson could cheerfully have put a fist through the monitor at that moment, if just to silence that terminally smug voice!

"But this is an emergency!"

"Thank you for your call. You have been placed on hold." And the next person to receive the hiding of a lifetime would be whoever had designed these vehicles; what nitwit decided that the steering wheel should lock if anyone tried to make an unauthorised lane change? If any of them survived this, it would be a bloody miracle... Wait... _hiding_ – that was it!

"Milo, set us down," the doctor cut in urgently, "and turn everything off!"

"Oh, you've _got_ to be joking!"

"Think about it," Watson insisted. "How can they tell where we are in all this fog? It could be the noise of the engines, the light, the heat... Whatever it is, if we turn everything off, they might not be able to find us."

Milo glanced at him doubtfully, but seemed to realise that they didn't have any other options at this point. The young man landed the car and began rapidly flipping switches. As fast as the car fell dark and silent, so did the commotion outside.

Cheen drew a deep, shuddering breath, almost sobbing in relief. "They've stopped!"

"Yeah, but they're still out there," Milo muttered.

"How did you think of that?" Cheen breathed to Watson.

Watson smiled faintly – he had to admit, it wasn't unpleasant hearing that kind of awestruck tone directed at himself, for a change. "My old C.O. used to hunt elephants – superb hearing and smell, but terrible eyesight. Besides..." He faltered, smile fading. "We get a lot of fogs like this back home..."

"Fair enough, I guess," Milo sighed, "but we've lost the aircon. If we don't switch the engines back on, we won't be able to breathe in... eight minutes, maximum."

* * *

**Author's note from Ria:** Yet another reason we kept this episode the same: we felt Watson needed some time in the spotlight away from the other two, his first chance in this series (although certainly not the last!) to shine as a capable, cool-headed companion in his own right.

Let's face it, Sherlock Holmes may be the most played character ever written, but John Watson must surely be the most maligned! A fully-qualified army surgeon, and a Major to boot, has got to be a heck of a lot more intelligent than _most_ actors have portrayed him in the past. I can never watch Nigel Bruce in the Basil Rathbone movies without cringing (and don't get me started on Dennis Hoey as Inspector Lestrade...). Sorry, James Mason – Christopher Plummer is _my_ Holmes, but you just didn't cut the mustard! I do, however, give a standing ovation to Jude Law, Martin Freeman and (Sky, honey, please don't shoot me!) Lucy Liu. Ahem. *end of rant*

**Author's note from Sky:** (From the little bit I've seen of Lucy Liu, I do like her, actually!) For the record, I would say that my favorite Watsons are David Burke, then Martin Freeman, then Jude Law — and the latter two may be a bit smarter than David's Watson, but around _their_ respective Holmeses, one would have to be. Anyway, Ria's rant is darn right, and just wait 'til you see what we've got in store for Watson's capabilities in the future~!


	5. You Are Not Alone

**==Chapter 5==**

**You Are Not Alone**

_Give, but give until it hurts.  
– Mother Teresa_

It had been so many lifetimes ago, visiting that one colony. Ben and Polly hadn't left the TARDIS yet, and Jamie had been new to the idea of running around Time and Space. "The Macra built up a small empire, long ago, using humans as slaves, mining gas for food."

Holmes's brow furrowed as he continued to watch the enormous crustaceans below. "They certainly do not give that impression at the moment, Doctor."

"Well, that was billions of years ago. Billions. Something must have happened. They devolved… now they're just beasts." One chilling quote came to mind, from a Narnia film… something along the lines of _If you're treated like a beast long enough, you become one_. "But they're still hungry, and our friend's down there."

As the three men rose, footsteps sounded on the roof, and the driver looked none too happy. "Oh, it's like New Times Square in here! For goodness's sake!"

An older, female-looking cat climbed down from the upper hatch. "I've invented a sport!" the Doctor said, grinning. He loved inventing new things—_wait, no, __**focus**_.

"Doctor," said the cat in an undeniably female voice, smiling, "you're a hard man to find."

"No guns," the driver snapped, pointing to the rather large blaster the cat carried. "I'm not having guns."

"I only brought this in case of pirates," said the cat. "Doctor, you've got to come with me."

The Doctor frowned uncertainly. "Do I know you?" She looked like a nurse and he'd met many feline nurses before, but that was the last time he'd been here. Rather bad memories, being locked up in a contaminated cell and having a crazy old woman's soul switching back and forth between him and Rose…

"You haven't aged at all," said the nurse, still sounding like someone who was reuniting with an old friend. Then she looked down. "Time has been less kind to me."

Then he placed her: the sweet, young nurse who'd been tending the Face of Boe at New Moon Hospital. "Novice Hame!" He hugged her, then let go, glaring. "No, hold on, get off! Last time we met, you were breeding humans for experimentation." Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Holmes's expression of horror—the ghost of their time together in Tibet was never going to quite let go…

"I've sought forgiveness, Doctor," said Hame, "for so many years, under his guidance. And if you come with me, I might finally be able to redeem myself." She _sounded_ sincere, but then he remembered all those people, lepers, humans brought into existence solely to provide vaccinations for "legitimate" citizens. Never knowing sunlight or warmth or love, trapped in the dark, unable even to scream…

Holmes's voice and the stubborn frown that accompanied it pulled the Doctor out of his brown study. "Madam, our friend is trapped down among the Macra—we are _not_ leaving him behind!" The detective turned to the driver, expression grim, tone full of steel. "Sir, we have more than enough passengers—take us down." His tone rather than his words spoke his all-too-real threat: _face those creatures or face me_… The man who would tear apart the world to keep his best friend safe…

The driver paled—the Doctor rather thought he would have paled, too, in his place.

"You've got to come with me right now," Hame said urgently.

But the Doctor couldn't imagine anything more urgent than people—John H. Watson, M.D. included—trapped down there amongst starship-sized Macra. "Forget it. I am _not_ leaving John Watson down there."

"I'm sorry, Doctor," the nurse said sharply. "But the situation is even worse than you can imagine." She grabbed his and Holmes's wrists. "Transport."

"Don't you dare!" the Doctor shouted, furious. "Don't you dare!"

But the world faded around him in a haze of white light, and when it coalesced, he fell to a hard surface, a rubbish-strewn floor. "Oh! Rough teleport. Ow." The three of them—Time Lord, human, and cat—pushed themselves off the floor. "You can go straight back down and teleport people out, starting with Watson."

"I only had the power for one trip."

"Well, can you not find any more?" said Holmes, peering into the gloom surrounding them. "Where are we, anyhow?"

The Doctor would have said a warzone, but Hame replied, "High above, in the over-city."

"Good," said the Doctor, eyes blazing. At last he could get to the bottom of this. First humans bred for medicine, now humans trapped in an endless circle of cramped spaces, drugs, darkness, and man-eating monsters. "Because you can tell the Senate of New New York I'd like a word. They have got _thousands_ of people _trapped_ on the motorway! _**Millions!**_"

"But you're inside the Senate, right now. May the goddess Santori bless them." Hame switched on the lights.

The Doctor had seen many gruesome things in his lifetimes. He'd witnessed the abominations of the Time War, some of his own people's making. But this… this was still…

It _was_ the Senate. A senate of skeletons.

Beside him, Holmes stared, equally horrified, equally speechless.

"They died, Doctor," said Hame. "The city died."

The Doctor knelt beside a platform where one skeleton lay in a contorted pose, as in the throes of agony. There was a mood patch laying over where the neck once was. "How long's it been like this?"

"Twenty-four years."

"All of them? Everyone? What happened?"

"A new chemical," said Hame. "A new mood. They called it Bliss." Holmes's eyes widened and stared aghast at the innocuous little patch. "Everyone tried it. They couldn't stop. A virus mutated inside the compound and became airborne. Everything perished. Even the virus, in the end. It killed the world in seven minutes flat. There was just enough time to close down the walkways and the flyovers, sealing off the under-city. Those people on the motorway aren't lost, Doctor. They were _saved_."

"Can we get them out?" Holmes said quietly, features pale and rather sickly.

"That's why I've brought the Doctor here: there's not enough power to get them out. We did all we could to stop the system from choking."

"Who's 'we'?" said the Doctor, tired of the cat's riddles. "How did you survive?"

"He protected me. And he has waited for you, these long years."

A deep, breathy voice sounded inside his head, a voice he'd heard only twice before. _"Doctor."_

"The Face of Boe!" The Doctor ran around the corner to find Boe in his tank, looking strained even for a billion-year-old head.

"_I knew you would come."_

"Back in the old days," said Hame, "I was made his nurse as penance for my sin."

The Doctor stepped forward until just a few inches of air and glass and fluids separated him from the ancient creature. "Old friend, what happened to you?"

"_Failing."_

"He protected me from the virus by shrouding me in his smoke," Hame continued. "But with no one to maintain it, the City's power died. The under-city would have fallen into the sea."

Holmes was gazing at Boe in wonder. "So you saved them?"

"_Did what I could…"_

"He wired himself into the mainframe. He's giving his life force just to keep things running."

The Doctor turned and rose to his feet. "But there are other planets out there. You could have called for help."

"The last act of the Senate was to declare New Earth unsafe. The automatic quarantine lasts for one hundred years."

The Doctor's gaze softened. "So the two of you stayed here, on your own for all these years."

"We had no choice."

He smiled sadly. "Yes, you did." They could have left, the odd pair—left this cursed world behind to be in peace. And instead…

_"Save them, Doctor. Save them."_

The Doctor turned away from Hame but looked at Holmes as he answered. "Dear old Boe… did you think I would not?"

* * *

"How much air's left?" Cheen murmured to Milo.

"Two minutes."

The quiet sadness in both his companions' faces made Watson's heart ache. "Don't give up hope, you two. We're not dead yet, and Holmes and I have been in much worse fixes than this, believe me."

"Is he military like you?" Cheen asked drowsily. "Whoever he is, you two seem awfully important to each other."

Watson chuckled, greatly amused by the notion of Holmes in the army – God forbid! "Not military, no… but we have saved each other's hides far more often than I care to remember. And our other companion, the Doctor..." His fond smile became a wry grin. "He's rather adept himself at last-minute miracles. Those two will think of something, you'll see." He hoped he sounded far more confident than he felt... he had no way of even knowing where his friends were, never mind whether they knew were _he_ was!

"Right," Milo nodded. "Well... better get this over with." He flipped the console switches again, bringing the vehicle back online. "Here goes nothing..." and they were off again, speeding through the forest of snapping pincers.

* * *

When the Doctor searched on the computers for 4-6-5-Diamond-6, he found it still moving down in the fast lane. He flew back and forth around the control room, working frenetically to return power to long-dormant systems. After nearly a quarter century, life was returning to the machines, but not sluggishly enough for them to handle it: a normal power-up became a power _surge_ and blew several machines.

That was when Boe recaptured the Doctor's attention with the words he'd secretly been dreading: _"I give you my last."_ Power returned once more to the machines, this time without overloading them. "Hame, look after him!" the Doctor cried, throwing down switches to open up the under-city at last. "Don't you go dying on me, you big old face. You've got to see this. The open road. Ha!"

He ran past an astonished Holmes to the communications network and began a live broadcast. "Sorry, no Sally Calypso. She was just a hologram. My name's the Doctor, and this is an order. Everyone drive up. Right now. I've opened the roof of the motorway. Come on. Throttle those engines. Drive up. All of you. The whole under-city. Drive up, drive up, drive up! Fast! We've got to clear that fast lane. Drive up and get out of the way!"

* * *

Watson barely restrained a whoop when the Doctor appeared on the car's monitor – Milo didn't need the extra distraction at the moment! Mere seconds ago, one of the creatures had actually succeeded in snaring them; mercifully, they had been shaken loose again before the car could be hopelessly crushed.

"Oi! Car Four-Six-Five-Diamond-Six! Watson! Drive up!"

"Watson!" The Doctor's face was replaced by an equally anxious detective's. "Are you all right?"

"Good to see you again, old boy!" Watson gave Holmes as reassuring a grin as he could manage while still being tossed about – it was a good thing he'd had plenty of practice in the TARDIS!

"We can't go up! We'll hit the layer!" Seriously, what did Cheen see in this young blockhead?

'You've got access above. Now, go!" the Time Lord ordered.

"Milo, do as he says!" Watson's tone also brooked no argument. And then they were soaring up out of the sickly yellow fumes, beyond the reach of those dreadful claws, heading towards a sight that Watson had all but believed he would never see again.

"It's daylight," Cheen breathed, shielding her eyes as the light streamed in through the grimy windshield. "Oh my God, that's the sky! The real sky..."

"They did it!" Watson clapped Milo on the shoulder in a sudden rush of bonhomie, starting to laugh in sheer relief. "I told you they would!" The couple were both blinking back tears as they kissed, and Watson was fairly certain he couldn't blame his own on the brightness, either...

* * *

The view of New New York from above was even more breathtaking than Watson's first glimpse of it in the undercity, although after everything that had transpired, he was far more concerned now about reuniting with his companions. Milo followed the coordinates sent by the Doctor and guided the car through the maze of towers to the Senate, setting Watson down on the roof's landing pad. He bid an affectionate farewell to his erstwhile abductors, accompanied by a few last-minute pieces of advice for Cheen regarding her pregnancy. Advanced technology notwithstanding, some things never changed – his greatest concern was that the blessed woman should stay off the mood patches.

Descending into the building proper, Watson couldn't help noticing the eerie silence; the only sound in the echoing corridors was his own footsteps. Where was everyone? He found his way to the main ampitheater with the help of a floor plan, pushed open the door... and gaped in horror at the grisly spectacle that greeted him. Despite his profession and experiences abroad, the only complete skeletons he'd ever seen had been hanging in the lecture rooms at medical college – but the tiers of seats in this room were crowded with them, and the fact that most were fully clothed only made the scene all the more macabre. What in God's name...?!

"Holmes!" he called, chest tight with rising dread. "Doctor!"

"Watson!" The doctor's heart leapt as Holmes emerged from the gloom, his friend's eyes aglow with the same profound relief flooding through him. "Thank God!" And Watson was astonished the next instant by Holmes seizing his shoulders roughly and pulling him into a crushing embrace. Holmes' arms were shaking, the detective drawing deep, shuddering breaths as he strove to collect himself, before pulling back enough to anxiously look Watson over. "So help me, Watson – if you _ever_ worry me like that again..."

The terror Holmes had clearly undergone was still fresh in his pale features, along with far too much remorse for Watson's liking. He shook his head, smiling, gripping his friend's shoulders firmly. "It's all right, Holmes. This wasn't your fault, any of it." Thank heaven Milo and Cheen hadn't come with him... He scanned the chamber again, unable to suppress a shiver at the gruesome tableau around them. "Dare I ask what happened here?"

Holmes opened his mouth to speak, then seemed to think better of it, taking Watson's arm instead. The detective led him to the end of the vast chamber, where Watson was rendered speechless yet again. Even after everything he had seen in company with the Doctor, the enormous disembodied head resting amid the tangled cables and shattered glass on the floor still made him stare in wonder. "...good heavens..." he managed to breathe after several attempts.

The Doctor turned and smiled at Watson, features etched with concern that clearly wasn't for his returned companion. "It's the Face of Boe. It's all right. Come and say hello." He nodded at the habit-clad figure hovering anxiously nearby. "And this is Hame. She's a cat." Watson could see that, but he seemed to have reached his quota of astonishment for the moment, and was able to simply nod himself in polite greeting.

"The Face of Boe is the one who saved you, Watson." Holmes' hold on the doctor's arm unconsciously tightened. "Without him, we would have been too late..."

"My lord gave his life to save the city," Hame murmured, "And now he's dying."

"No, don't say that. Not old Boe. Plenty of life left." The Doctor's gently cheerful tone was somehow still more heartrending.

_"It's good to breathe the air once more."_

Watson swiftly revised his opinion that nothing could surprise him any more as the deep voice echoed in his head. "Who is he?"

"I don't even know. Legend says the Face of Boe has lived for billions of years. Isn't that right? And you're not about to give up now."

_"Everything has its time. You know that, old friend, better than most."_

"The legend says more." Hame's voice was rough with unshed tears.

The Doctor's eyes widened, shaking his head. "Don't. There's no need for that."

"It says that the Face of Boe will speak his final secret to a traveller," the cat persisted.

"Yeah, but not yet. Who needs secrets, eh?"

"_I have seen so much. Perhaps too much. I am the last of my kind, as you are the last of yours, Doctor."  
_

"That's why we have to survive. Both of us." Watson had never seen the Doctor look so lost. "Don't go."

" _I must. But know this, Time Lord." _And this time, the Face of Boe's lips moved as he spoke. "_You are not alone." _The luminous eyes drifted closed, Boe's last breath escaping in a long, soft sigh._  
_

Hame choked and covered her face, shoulders shaking. The Doctor rose from where he'd been kneeling and moved to the weeping cat's side, while Watson and Holmes stood together, arm in arm, heads bowed in respectful silence.

* * *

**Author's note from Sky:**  
I'd like to say that, if you noticed the Doctor's explanation of the Macra is a bit different from the original... it's because the original was slightly inaccurate. I did a little research and adjusted his lines accordingly!

**Author's note from Ria:** And we're dreadfully sorry, dear readers, but this really was the only time in this season that we'll see the Face of Boe, in any form. *avoids spoilers for DW newbies* If you ask us nicely, he might turn up again in later seasons – he's good at that! ;)


	6. Epilogue: Allons-y

**==Epilogue==**

**Allons-y**

_Don't walk behind me; I may not lead. Don't walk in front of me; I may not follow. Just walk beside me and be my friend._

– _Albert Camus_

"All closed down." The Doctor surveyed the deserted alley in Pharmacy Town with grim satisfaction. Whether it was due to the Time Lord's warning, or the vendors simply having lost all of their clientele, Holmes didn't know – and honestly, he didn't much care at the moment.

Watson's smile was equally grim. "Good."

"Indeed..." Holmes murmured, still deep in thought. Their adventures here had given him a great deal to consider – although to some, the choice before him might seem the easiest in the world to make. He was no seer, but he could sense that this road would be travelled in sleepless nights, paved with hazards and strong temptations... and the journey might never truly end... but when one travelled in company with a friend, was that such a terrible thing? He sensed Watson's eyes on him and met the doctor's curious gaze calmly without speaking; Baker Street seemed the most fitting place to discuss such matters, and they would be safely back home soon enough.

"New New York can start again. And they've got Novice Hame. Just what every city needs: cats in charge." Holmes couldn't tell from the Doctor's expression if he were serious or not. "Come on, time we were off."

This was it, Holmes thought, with a twinge of sorrow but far greater relief. Barring accidents on the trip home, his and Watson's travels with the Doctor were all but over. And that was for the best, he told himself sternly. He could clearly recall what it had been like to say _au revoir_ to the Doctor in Tibet; how much longer could Watson have remained with the Time Lord before it became unbearable to say a last farewell?

"Doctor..." Watson asked hesitantly, "what did he mean, the Face of Boe? 'You are not alone.'"

"I don't know," the Doctor replied shortly, voice tight.

"You do have friends, Doctor," his human colleague smiled in sympathy. "Could he have meant us?"

The Time Lord didn't return the smile. "I don't think so... 'specially not since you're going back home. Sorry. Doesn't matter, anyway. Back to the TARDIS, off we go."

The Doctor turned abruptly and strode off towards the ship. As they followed, the detective noted with unease that Watson's steps were slowing, his friend looking deeply troubled. Then came the sound he'd been half expecting, half dreading: "Holmes...?"

Holmes stopped dead and turned to Watson, expression pained. "Watson... I... I almost lost you back there..." Again! He couldn't keep doing this, he just couldn't... The detective didn't lack for courage, but he was all too aware that Watson was by far the stronger of the pair of them. Holmes knew in his deepest soul that he wouldn't have survived three days of believing Watson dead, never mind three _years_... as if his friend could ever be that cruel... He shook his head in frustration, knowing he'd never be able to say any of that to the doctor – he had barely been able to voice the apology he'd owed Watson so badly on his return last year.

He cleared his throat and tried again. "Watson, you've learnt firsthand what kind of dangers the Doctor faces every day... and you and I have our own lives back home, our own path to follow." And their Fixed Points were yet another taboo subject. As he'd already told the Doctor, Watson didn't need any more importance assigned to his florid accounts – Heaven only knew what effect that would have on his writing!

Watson raised a challenging eyebrow. "And that path is equally fraught with danger, Holmes..." His lips twitched. "Although not generally the kind that involves flying vehicles and aliens!"

Holmes sighed. "I really am going to have to tell you what happened in Tibet..." Preferably back in the sitting room of 221B, although that was looking increasingly unlikely...

The two men stood awkwardly facing each other, the rising tension between them almost a tangible thing – both unwilling to wound the other, but equally unwilling to give way. Just then, however, their battle of wills was interrupted by something completely unexpected: the sound of another hymn filling the air, and this time it was one they both knew.

Watson smiled, enchanted. "Holmes, it's the city!" He closed his eyes and softly joined in: "_When other helpers fail and comforts flee, Help of the helpless, O abide with me..._" He trailed off, the words of the hymn plainly making the point for him, opening his eyes to look at the detective steadily.

Holmes knew he was lost the moment he saw the doctor's expression – he'd rarely been able to withstand that look of quiet entreaty, and now was clearly not one of those times. He sighed deeply, although unable to completely suppress his own smile at the prospect of remaining with the Doctor. "I never will get your limits, Watson..." then he sobered again. "But when you do wish to return home, say the word."

Watson nodded solemnly, turning to the Doctor, eyes twinkling. "Sorry, Doctor – it looks as if you'll be putting up with us for a good while longer!"

The Doctor had been standing at a tactful distance while the pair had been arguing, looking increasingly tense himself. Now he turned back, staring at his companions incredulously. "Are you serious? I... I thought this was supposed to be a one-time thing..."

Holmes gave a casual shrug, responding teasingly, "Well, if you think it'll be too much trouble..." and Watson snorted at the last word.

The Doctor's eyes widened. "No, no trouble! I just..." He blinked, letting it sink in a moment... then burst into a brilliant smile. "Really? You really want to..." He stepped up and embraced them, laughing in delight.

Watson and Holmes returned the embrace, both grinning broadly. "Although we will have to return home briefly, Doctor," Watson added. "We're both in dire need of a change of clothes, not to mention a bath!"

Holmes gave his friend his most enigmatic smile. "That won't be a problem, Watson... Doctor, I think it's time you gave us an official tour of the TARDIS." Something he himself had been greatly looking forward to.

The Doctor stepped back with an ear-splitting grin, "Good idea, Holmes!" then set back off for the TARDIS, his step light. "Watson, the TARDIS isn't just bigger on the inside - she's _huge_. There's bathrooms and bedrooms and a kitchen and a library – with a pool in it! – and a wardrobe that Holmes absolutely loves..."

Watson shook his head in wonder, turning to Holmes as they followed the Doctor once again. "So... Tibet? How exactly _did_ you two 'run into each other'?"

Holmes swallowed hard – he'd been hoping to avoid this a good while longer. He took a deep breath, bracing himself for the inevitable reaction. "Well, to be more specific... he saved me from being ripped to shreds by a creature greatly resembling a yeti, which turned out to be the village blacksmith..."

**To Be Continued...**

**in Episode Four: "The Manhattan Conspiracy"**

* * *

**Author's note from Ria:**

Aaand cue the explosion from Watson! Honestly, Holmes, you berate your friend for nearly getting himself killed...

So, our brave duo are back on the road with the Doctor once again, and from here on their travels will take them far into unexplored territory, and not only them. What strange and wondrous adventures will befall the three heroes? Stay tuned!

**Author's note from Sky:**  
And here I was about to say that I couldn't wait to start the next episode! It's one of my favorites! Boy, hold on, folks, 'cos you're in for an awesomely wild ride!


End file.
